of the masters whom he most admired.  To mention no later instances, it is well known that Beethoven’s early works are all colored by his recollections of Mozart, and that his own peculiar qualities were not clearly brought out until he had reached the maturity of his powers.  This seems to be the law in all the arts; imitation first, self-development and originality afterwards.  Happy are those who do not stop in the first stage!  It is certain that Mr. Southard’s music pleased, and that some of the most critical of the audience were roused to a real enthusiasm.  And it is to be borne in mind that the music is cast in a grand mould; it has no prettiness; it is either great in itself, or wears the semblance of greatness.  On the whole, we are inclined to think that the “Diarist” in Dwight’s “Journal of Music” was not extravagant in saying that no first work since the time of Beethoven has had so much of promise as the opera “Omano.”  We shall look with great interest for its production upon the stage with the proper accompaniments and scenic effects.  It is due to the composer that this should be done.  If the music we heard had been performed by a company of great artists in the Boston Theatre or in the Academy of Music, it would have been received with tumultuous applause.  The singers on this occasion gained to themselves great credit by their conscientious endeavors.  They generously offered their services, and sang with a heartiness that showed a warm interest in the work.  One of them, at least, Mrs. J. H. Long, would have established her reputation as an accomplished artist, even if she had never appeared in public before.

We suppose our readers will agree with us in looking with eager delight to the promise of a national school of music.  Every nation must create its own song.  The passionate music of Italy electrifies our cooler blood, but it does not adequately express all our feelings nor in any way represent our character.  We also find many of the compositions of Germany so purely intellectual that they do not touch us until we have learned to like them.  If we ever have a school of music, it will be in harmony with our rapidly developing characteristics.  But it must grow up on our own soil; exotics never flourish long under strange skies.  We think that many things point to this country as the place where music will achieve new triumphs.  We are not bound by old traditions, we have few prejudices to unlearn, and we are able to see merit in more than one school.  The same audience that becomes almost intoxicated with the excitement of the Italian opera will listen with the fullest, serenest pleasure to the majestic symphonies of Beethoven or to the sublime choruses of Handel.  The devotees of the various European schools have none of this catholicity.  A very accomplished Italian musician used frankly to say, that a symphony always put him to sleep; and as for the songs of Franz and other recent German composers, he would rather